


Two Studies for "Desire"

by Canaan



Series: How It Could Have Happened [31]
Category: Doctor Who
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Humor, Smut, Stand Alone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-21
Updated: 2011-06-21
Packaged: 2017-10-20 15:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Canaan/pseuds/Canaan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How Amy and Rory came to have bunk beds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Studies for "Desire"

**Author's Note:**

> Written for round one challenge ten of Kink_LAS on LJ. BR by Yamx. Disclaimer: I don't own them and I'm not making any money.

Amy's bed on the TARDIS was very much like her bed back home—as if the TARDIS read her mind somehow. The little brass bed was a comfortable, familiar touch in the midst of the alien geometries of the time ship. Of course, her bed at home was new; Aunt Sharon probably bought it from IKEA. Her TARDIS bed was an antique, the patina on the bedknobs marred where uncounted hands had fondled it.

Amy lay back on it with her legs wrapped around Rory's waist, trying not to move very much. It wasn't her favorite position, and Rory was trying for a gentle, rocking motion, but it beat not being able to shag at all. She arched her back and tried to find a more satisfying angle, while Rory panted in her ear.

A knock at their door made Amy bite back a curse. Rory groaned quietly and pulled out of her. She wanted to sob at the sudden empty feeling, but instead, she swung her legs to the floor and threw on a robe while he slid onto the floor behind the bed. They'd seen what the Doctor's sonic screwdriver could do with doors.

When she opened up, the Doctor stared at her with an innocently puzzled expression. "Is everything all right?" he asked.

God, she hoped she wasn't blushing. "I'm awake talking to you instead of asleep in bed—that's a lot less than all right."

He looked around the room. "Sorry, I thought I heard something. It sounded a bit like a Servichian false-snake, and I can't have one of those running around the TARDIS. Well, slithering around, that is."

She rolled her eyes. "Good night, Doctor," she said, closing the door on him.

Rory sat up again, peering at her over the side of the bed. "We could, er, go down on each other," he suggested awkwardly, his hair wild and his eyes dark. "It wouldn't be so loud."

She walked around the end of the bed to reach him, knowing better than to crawl across it. "I am _not_ going months at a time without having you inside me just because the bed squeaks. We've got a perfectly good floor. Now lie down, I want to be on top."

***

The Doctor didn't wait well. "Nothing has happened in almost two hours. It's making me quite cross."

Amy looked below them at the trap once more. "Well, since nothing's happening . . . ."

He made an inquiring sound.

 _Not blushing, not blushing, not blushing . . . ._ "Would you mind if Rory and I moved into some other bedroom in the TARDIS? It's not like there's a shortage, and the bed was fine for me, but with Rory, too—well, it's a bit cramped." _There, that wasn't so bad, was it?_

The Doctor blinked. "But what's wrong with his room?"

No good: she was blushing. "We're engaged to be married, Doctor! We want to sleep in the same room!"

"Oh." His look of startled enlightenment might have been funny if it had been anyone else trying to explain the mechanics of human sexuality to him. "Oh! Oh, of course. No need to change rooms, though—I can have the TARDIS redecorate. Remind me when we're back aboard."

From not far enough away, Rory shouted, "Doctor! Amy! I don't think it likes the bait!" He came tearing around the corner with the _uquitabh_ right behind him.

"Run!" the Doctor shouted.

They ran.

***

"A spaceship is going to redecorate?" Rory asked.

"As long as it's a different bed, does it have to make sense?" Amy crossed the fingers of one hand as she put the other on the knob and opened their bedroom door.

They stared. "Bunk beds? He gave us _bunk beds_?" Rory asked.

Amy dragged him into the room before his voice could get any louder and slammed the door shut behind them. "God, I'm thick. He's an alien—if he understands sex, _I_ can't tell. I told him the bed wasn't big enough. What do we get? Bunk beds."

There was really nothing else to say to that. After a moment's silent contemplation, Rory approached the offending furniture. He sat on the edge of the lower bunk, checked to make sure he wouldn't hit his head on the upper, and bounced in place. "No squeak," he said. He lay down and bounced some more.

"No squeak," Amy echoed, the corners of her mouth rising. She toed off her shoes and walked over to him. Her skirt slid up her thighs as she straddled him and rubbed against him fiercely enough to shake both beds. Rory groaned.

No squeak.

They grinned foolishly at each other. Amy crawled back out of the bed. She stepped out of her already-wet knickers. "I think we've waited long enough, don't you?" she asked, climbing atop him again and reaching for his zip.

Rory slipped his hands beneath her jumper, drawing it up over her head to cast it aside. "Oh yes."

She rubbed herself along the hard length of him, reveling in the sensation of heat against her slick folds. After a month and more of frustration, they didn't need foreplay, and she leaned forward a bit so she wouldn't hit her head as she lifted her hips, then sank down on him.

It was quick and rough and perfect. She marked his throat with her lips; she knew he'd left marks of his own on her back.

They lay together afterward, close and content. "So what do you think about the bunk beds?" Amy asked. "We could always try talking to him again."

Rory just smiled and kissed the soft spot beneath her jaw. She shivered with the sensation, and he murmured into her skin, "Best. Bunk beds. Ever."


End file.
